


A Gift From Primus

by Addadain (Xenophobic_Doll)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-War, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenophobic_Doll/pseuds/Addadain
Summary: To be sent a sparkmate is a rare gift from Primus, considered sacred.The bright side is that Primus has seen fit to send Jazz a sparkmate, Prowl.  The maybe not so bright side is that Prowl is a sparkling.AU, with some G1 leanings.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I might be rusty, this is the first thing I've written in nearly 10 years. Hope yall enjoy =) Also, I don't own anything except the mistakes.

Jazz was irritable. It wasn’t a condition he often found himself in, even after a mission he was less irritable and more paranoid, more aware of his surroundings.

Part of it was, he knew, was lack of sleep. He and Ironhide returned from Polyhex, only the day before. By the time his reports were filed, his optic shutters were drooping, threatening to do what he clearly too stupid to do on his own. Then he went to bed, only to find that recharge was avoiding him.

Not cool.

It wasn’t post mission paranoia, they’d been helping Polyhex set up their own enforcer post, something he’d been thrilled to do. He was originally from Polyhex, and was glad to see it thriving post war. Well, maybe not thriving, they cybertronian population hadn’t yet recuperated from the war enough for ‘thriving’, per se, but it was large enough to need enforcers, and that was a start.

He sighed, and pinged the lift for the top level. He’d been skulking in his office long enough, it was time to meet the Prime’s sparkling. Prowl, he corrected himself. He and Ironhide had been in Poly when his birth was announced to the general population, but of course, he’d known Elita One was carrying.

And the data feeds. ALL the data feeds. Pick any one and all you’d find were pictures of the little one. Jazz grinned despite his mood. The sparkling looked pure Praxian. Elita’s kin hailed from both Crystal City and Praxus, and Jazz felt that her latent Praxian CNA had waited to show itself at the just the right time to make Optimus miserable. Prowl strongly favored Elita’s Grand-Carrier, who strongly disapproved of Orion Pax, the dock worker, and deemed Optimus Prime, the leader of their entire civilization “a slight improvement.”

Jazz grinned. His spark still felt weird, spinning all over the place, but his mood improved. He’d been Prime’s second in command since the beginning of the war, and one thing he’d learned was that Prime needed a little torment in his life. It was good for him, built character and all. And clearly, Primus agreed.

Ironhide was waiting for him at the top of the lift. “I’m not going in alone.”

  
Jazz arched an optic ridge.

“I’m not. The place could be crawling with femmes. And Ratchet. It could be crawling with Ratchet, too.”

Ironhide was facing the lift. Jazz looked past his shoulder and helpfully pointed out “Well, it’s definitely not crawling with Ratchet, he’s just a little ways up the corridor.”

“Frag. I’m due for maintenance.”

“Suck it up, yer a warrior. You can take him.”

Ironhide barked a laugh, but followed Jazz gamely up the hall. The red and white medic fell in step with them, and the look he shot Ironhide over Jazz’s head said he’d NOT forgotten about a certain old mech with rusty gears that needed an exam. He then turned to Jazz with a somewhat evil grin and said, “Feeling ok, Jazz?”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“You don’t sound too sure.”

  
“Not too likely to take damage training a bunch of rookies, doc.”

  
“True. You know, Elita was telling me earlier that Prowl has been fussy since the last day cycle. That’s odd for him, he’s been a very quiet sparkling.”

Ratchet was giving Jazz a look that suggested Jazz might know why Prowl was fussy, and still kind of grinning in that disturbingly cheerful way. It was…scary. He glanced at Ironhide, and got a shrug, zero help there, and decided it was safer to be prudent than brave. Jazz fell behind a step and came up on Ironhide’s right side, putting the warrior between himself and Ratchet.

Ironhide took one look at his new circumstances and unceremoniously grabbed the first piece of convenient kibble and dragged Jazz right back into the middle. Traitorous tin can.

Ratchet laughed, and Jazz was surprised that no lightening struck the officer’s barracks of the Prime’s residence.

It hadn’t taken that long to get to Prime’s quarters, it was right at the end of the corridor, but Jazz was glad to see the door. He didn’t care if the place was crawling with roving packs of marauding femmes, they wouldn’t be as terrifying as the CMO.

His entry ping was answered immediately, and he stepped inside. The place was comfortable and lived in, and gave the few remaining nobles on Cybertron fits. It wasn’t grand enough for a Prime, according to everyone, and it wasn’t even any bigger than the other officer housing on the floor. Jazz grinned again, OP was many things, grandiose wasn’t one of them. The company room was tastefully decorated, by Sunstreaker, with art created by Sunstreaker. The only piece of art Prime had prior to moving into this suite was a velvet painting from their time on Earth. Sunstreaker told Optimus that if he even thought of hanging it where anyone could see it, that he would defect. And since the war was over, he was perfectly fine with inventing a new faction to defect to.

As a result there were beautiful landscapes hanging on the walls, and Sunstreaker was still an autobot.

Jazz didn’t care about any of those things. He’d said hi to the room in general, Optimus, Elita, and Firestar. He was vaguely aware of Ironhide telling Optimus that Prowl looked like he was the milkman’s kid, and he kinda heard Optimus asking what was a milkman, but most of his focus had zeroed in on what had to be the most adorable sparkling in the universe.

Prowl was sitting on Firestar’s lap. Jazz could easily see the budding of a ruby red chevron, and his color was all the way in, black and white in opposite of Jazz’s own. And, he looked annoyed. The sparkling’s face was devoid of emotion, but his winglets were hiked as far up on his back as he could get them, and his ice blue optics were glaring daggers at Firestar.

Jazz immediately decided that Prowl was a genius sparkling.

Prowl turned to fast Jazz so fast that if Firestar hadn’t had a good hold on him he would have fallen. One look was all it took. Prowl leaned forward as far as he could, his little arms outstretched, reaching. Jazz scooped him up, more comfortable holding a sparkling than he ever thought he would be. Prowl, for his part simply laid his head in the crook of Jazz’s shoulder, put his arm around Jazz’s neck, and promptly went to sleep.

Elita grabbed Jazz’s audial firmly, and said in a voice that brooked no argument, “You are staying HERE tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jazz made his way to the couch and settled down, snuggling the small form in his arms, completely unaware of the thunderstruck silence around him. He could feel his spark settling, no longer whirling like a top that had been spun too hard. And, he could feel, through the thin armor over Prowl’s chest, the sparkling’s spark settling and pulsing in time to his own.

It felt like coming home.

At least until Ratchet cackled, “Congratulations Prime! Jazz is going to be your son-in-law!”  



	2. Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz needs loads of help with his paperwork. Luckily he has Prowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the mistakes are mine. Sadly, Prowl was too busy helping Jazz to help me.

Jazz was catching up on paperwork. He lay stretched out on his abdominal plating, pedes kicking in the air behind him. Prowl was beside him, in the exact same position, studiously bent over the data pad that Jazz had given him.

 

Prowl was Jazz's paperwork buddy. Ironhide had opined that it was kinda sad when one, namely Jazz, had to rope a poor sparkling into doing his paperwork for him. Jazz had countered with the fact that Prowl was better at paperwork than he was. At the age of three vorns.

 

Most of what they handled was too gruesome for a sparkling, and Jazz wouldn't let him near those reports. He couldn't read much yet, but Prowl really _was_ an intelligent sparkling, and Jazz wasn't sure just how _much_ he could read. Therefore, he took no chances. There was some small time stuff though, either his own, or reports from others, and Jazz let Prowl embellish those reports with drawings, like a mech in handcuffs, for example.

 

The one Prowl currently had, was one such report. Ironhide had been out and about, trying to find some energon goodies for Chromia. “The couch is too short to be sleeping on.” Ironhide stated, when he'd seen some mech dealing on a street corner. “Wasn't even trying to hide it,” he groused. Ironhide collared the mech, and he'd tried fighting while Ironhide held on to his scruff bar.

 

According to the witnesses, (most were laughing) Ironhide had just let the mech flail until he wore himself out, looking bored and slightly exasperated, then promptly chucked him into the enforcer transport once it arrived. The warrior only sustained minor dents and scuffs as a result of the encounter, but still, the incident, and the damage, had to be reported.

 

So, Jazz gave the datapad to Prowl and told him to draw a picture of Ironhide at the bottom, “I'll show you were to put the owwies when yer done.”

 

Jazz was busy himself. He was currently working on a plan to infiltrate a sparkling slave ring run by a mech he referred to as “The Fop.” That wasn't the mech's real designation, but he favored chain mail capes and obscene amounts of costume magnet jewelry, and the moniker fit him.

 

He was thinking Swindle might be his best bet. He was known for being willing to procure and sell anything to make a credit, his own team not withstanding. He didn't deal in sparklings, even Swindle had some morals, but most didn't know that, and if a client offered him enough to procure one... The client of course, would be one of Jazz's people.

 

The Fop would never stand trial of course. Jazz intended to make sure he and his lieutenants would not survive the raid. But he had to get them ALL. If he killed the Fop, and someone else survived to take over his operation, he would have accomplished nothing except making them go deeper under ground.

 

Unacceptable.

 

Jazz betrayed the Prime to end the war to prevent their species from fighting to extinction and to allow them to come home and rebuild. And as soon as they got here, it seemed half of them decided to do unspeakable things to each other.

 

Well, it wasn't really that bad. Jazz would admit that. He was just frustrated. The cybertronian population had been devastated, and sparklings were their future. He sometimes wished he could go back to being a crime lord. Before the war, when he was running the underworld, there were some things that did not happen. Ever. Because Jazz would take care of it. Selling sparklings was one.

 

Prowl clicked to get his attention, and Jazz leaned over his shoulder to have a look. Prowl had drawn what looked like a gun turret with legs, and two more cannons for arms. Underneath his picture in straggling glyphs he'd written “Ironhide <3”

 

Close enough.

 

Jazz kissed the top of Prowls helm, and Prowl wiggled his wings happily. “'Kay, now he had boo-boos here, here and here.”

 

Very carefully, the tip of his glossa poking out in concentration, Prowl drew X band-aids over Ironhide's owwies. He was helping Jazz with important work, and he wanted to make sure he did a good job.

 

“I think that's your best one yet, Prowler.”

 

Jazz rolled onto his back, and grabbed Prowl to sit on his chest plates. He thought of Ironhide depicted as a gun turret again, and grinned. “Definitely your most accurate.”

 

Prowl just nodded sagely. This wasn't news to him. Then he pressed his little palms against the large ones Jazz held up and leaned forward to nibble on Jazz's finger. Jazz had the tastiest fingers. His sire's were the next best.

 

“Dunno how I ever got any paperwork done before you came along.”

 

Prowl lifted his winglets in a shrug. Who knows??

 

Then Optimus shouted from next door, “You crammed all of your reports into two paragraphs, that's how!”

 

Jazz answered Optimus' ping for entrance. “Fat lotta good asking for entrance does when yer eavesdropping on top secret conversations.”

 

“We'll just have to increase my security clearance. Besides, I couldn't help it, I was right outside the door.”

 

The door was a new addition. As second in command, Jazz's quarters were right next to OP's, and they'd had Hoist and Grapple install a door between the two suites. It didn't lock on either side for Jazz, Optimus, or Elita—in case of emergency, but the adults still pinged for entry when there wasn't one. Prowl came and went as he pleased, especially once the adults figured out that he always knew when Jazz was home.

 

Prowl leaned over and gave Jazz a wet smacking kiss on the face plates then raised his arms for his Sire. It was almost bath time, and it was Carrier's turn. She always made it extra fun.

 

Jazz waited for Optimus to get Prowl situated, then handed him Prowl's newest work with a grin. “He drew Ironhide this time, OP. I think it's his best one yet.”

 

He bounced Prowl a little on his arm, then pretended to eat his servo when Prowl patted his face. “Bath time” he sing-songed before turning to Jazz, “I'll make sure I give it a look.”

 

Optimus left, and Jazz stayed on the floor, waiting. A few kliks later he heard Optimus roar with laughter, and grinned.

 

Prowl was definitely too smart for his own good.

 


	3. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl explains THE DEAL to Mirage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading fics where Prowl is the possessive one, so I really couldn't resist this. This is going to be the last chapter with Prowl as a toddler-sparkling. It will skip forward a bit in the next one, and I'm looking forward to seeing events through Prowl's POV.

Technically, it was a mess hall located in what would have been the Prime's Palace, if Optimus hadn't declared it wasteful to use it solely to house him. He had though, and turned it into a mufti-functional government building. Housing was on the top floor—pretty much all of the officers still lived there. The floor below that consisted of offices, conference rooms, and the mess hall. The ground floor housed Ratchets clinic, as well as various offices for the general public—housing, school registration for sparklings, aid, etc. Subterranean levels were for storage, and of course, Jazz and Ironhide's real offices.

 

The best part, obviously, was the rec-room. For all that it was called a mess hall, there were usually more mech's in there running their face plates than re-fueling.

 

Jazz planned to do a little of both.

 

He'd just finished filling his cube and was trying to decide where to sit when he heard Elita One say, “There he is!” Prowl ran to him, just a little unsteady, and wrapped himself around Jazz's leg.

 

“You got me, Prowler!” Jazz cried, and then collapsed on his aft in the center of the floor.

 

Prowl rolled his optics. _You are being silly, Jazz_. But evidently accepted this as typical Jazz behavior, because he soon busied himself by climbing all over his future bondmate, while nibbling on what ever piece of armor was handy.

 

Elita joined them, though she crouched, smiling at Jazz's antics. “Do you mind keeping him for a bit? I made plans to go out with 'Mia, and Prowl made it abundantly clear that he'd rather stay with you.”

 

“Have fun, 'Lita. I never mind hanging out with Prowler.”

 

“Thank you. If I find any of those rust sticks you like, I'll get you some.”

 

“Awesome.” Jazz waited until Prowl climbed over his shoulder and slid down his front before grabbing a small pede and tickling it mercilessly.

 

Elita left to meet Chromia. She was looking forward to some time with her best friend.

 

 

*~*

 

Mirage passed Elita One on the way into the mess hall. He didn't know her all that well, most of his time had been spent fighting on Earth, and Elita and her femmes had been here on Cybertron, but she greeted him cordially, as she passed.

 

He much preferred her to the other nobles. Actually, he preferred any company to that of the other nobles. There were only four left. The 'Con's had wiped out most of them at the start of the war, and the few remaining had chosen to flee rather than join the Autobots. Life as a neutral had not been kind, stripping their membership further.

 

Neither had Mirage. They'd returned to Cybertron after the Autobots liberated it, thinking that everything was going to rebuilt and go back to the way it was before the war. Not so. Mirage's house had been the highest ranking, and he was the last survivor. As such, Prime had seen fit to let him handle the nobility, such as it was, and Mirage quite bluntly told them that they were to get off their afts and contribute, or he'd see them stripped of their titles.

 

They weren't pleased by that. And they complained, incessantly. Luckily for them, Mirage was bonded to Hound, and Hound was a kind spark. So kind, in fact, that he refused to help hide their frames in the event that Mirage killed them, and therefore saved the whole lot of them.

 

Mirage froze at the sight before him once he entered the mess hall. Jazz was in there, sitting in the middle of the floor, tickling Prowl's pede. The sparkling was sprawled on his stomach plates, grinning face turned to one side, squirming and flapping his winglets as though he were trying to fly. It was incredibly adorable.

 

Except for the look on Jazz's face. It was one he'd seen before—blank, and intensely focused. It was, in fact, the look Jazz wore when he tortured an enemy.

 

Mirage watched him poke and prod Prowl's pede in a very deliberate manner, and understood that Jazz was actually being careful. He was afraid of nicking the squirming sparkling with his claws.

 

Unfortunately, the side of the room to Jazz's right couldn't see Prowl's grinning face, his head was turned the other way, and Mirage could see they were starting to look uneasy. One mech looked about ready to interfere, but Mirage glared at him coldy. He sat back down. Good.

 

Mirage addressed Jazz in a clear, carrying voice, “You do realize that's your future bondmate you're tickle torturing, don't you, Jazz? He may remember this in the future and make you camp on the couch for a few vorns.”

 

Jazz looked up and grinned in greeting. “I do. But I have to torment him while I can. I promised myself I wouldn't use any of the 8 million image captures I have of his sparkling-hood against him later.”

 

“How very noble of you.”

 

“Right? I thought so, too.” Jazz picked Prowl up, kissed his helm, and sat him on his feet. Prowl simply made himself comfortable, sitting with his back against Jazz's knee, and rested. Being tickled was hard work.

 

Mirage took all this in. He'd never seen Jazz happier than he'd been since Prowl was born. He made his way to the pair, and looked down his nose at Jazz, “You also realize that civilized mechs use chairs.” To demonstrate, Mirage snagged a chair from a nearby table, turned it around and sat, primly crossing his legs.

 

Jazz shot him an amicable bird, which Mirage wasn't going to lower himself to respond to. Prowl, happened to look around and see the gesture, then he also shot Mirage a bird.

 

“Prowl,” Jazz lectured, “I shouldn't have done that, and you shouldn't either, its not nice, ok?” Prowl nodded. “And,” Jazz continued, “if anyone ever asks where you learned that, you learned it from Ratchet, got it?” Prowl nodded, again.

 

There were a couple of snickers from the half-full room and Jazz gave them all a _look_. “And for the record, I can find out where any of you lot live.”

 

More snickering. Jazz sighed.

 

Deciding to move away from that, Mirage said, “He is a sparkling of few words or clicks.”

 

“Oh, he talks plenty, he just uses these.” Jazz reached out to rub one of Prowl's winglets and the small black and white sparkling wiggled it happily. “He doesn't vocalize much unless he swearing.”

 

“I see. I supposed he learned these swears from Ratchet, as well?”

 

Prowl dutifully nodded his head. He would keep Jazz safe. Prowl subspaced a puzzle game that Jazz had given him. It was his favorite toy.

 

Mirage gawped. “I didn't think sparklings could access susbspace.”

 

“Well, Ratchet says they can't. Prowl totally made him a liar, 'cause he can. Gotta watch him though, he smuggles contraband in there.”

 

“Pardon me?” Mirage was trying to figure out what kind of contraband a sparkling could get a hold of.

 

“Yeah, well, Sideswipe had some chocolate sent from Earth. Evidently he's trying to come up with a chocolate flavored high-grade.”

 

“That sounds atrocious.”

 

“Yup. So Prowl was over there painting with Sunny, yeah? While he was there he loaded his subspace up with chocolate, and chowed down enough later to gum up his intakes. Ratchet nearly had kittens. S'when Prowl learned all those swear words.”

 

“Right. That he'd never heard before then.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Mirage huffed. He really hoped Jazz didn't think anyone was buying that load of slag. “Painting and sweet smuggling aside, what does he like to do?” He'd had younger siblings, but Mirage didn't really know much about them. As far as his creators had been concerned, raising sparklings was a job for the hired help. However, they were so cute, and here lately Mirage had been thinking he'd like to have one of his own.

 

“Puzzles, mostly. He gets bored with most of 'em pretty, quick, so I commissioned that one from Wheeljack.” Right on cue, the small sphere in Prowl's hands emitted a short burst of Earth music.

 

Mirage looked horrified. So did everyone in audio range that had encountered the engineer.

 

“Eh, don't worry. I played it through to the end and reset it three times before I let him have it. It changes each time you reset it, see?”

 

“That's dedication.”

 

[Does he know what you are to him?]

 

Jazz looked surprised by the comm, but answered anyway. [He knows I ain't one of his creators, but beyond that, not sure. Why?]

 

[Curiosity. This isn't exactly a common situation.] Mirage paused. [I wish I could have met Hound when he was younger. He was an adorable sparkling, I'm sure.]

 

Jazz didn't reply and really no answer was needed. He and Jazz talked of simple things, catching up. He still did some work for Jazz, when his talents were needed, but that wasn't often.

 

He kept up his end of the conversation, and smiled at Prowl whenever the sparkling looked his way, but his processor was wandering a bit. Sparkmates were rare. To be sent a sparkmate was a gift from Primus, considered sacred. He didn't know all of the specifics, but he knew that they had a 100 percent compatibility rating, matched only in split sparked twins. Two different sparks, yet the same. He'd always thought the 'gift from Primus' part of it might be over-reaching, but now he wasn't so sure. He knew Jazz, knew what he could be like. Had watched Jazz have fun, but never commit to anyone, and be perfectly content with that.

 

And now here he was, watching this sparkling play his puzzle, happier than Mirage had ever seen him. Slightly sappier, too. To think, he knew former Decepticons that still crossed to the opposite side of the street when they saw Jazz coming.

 

Still though, he was curious as to what Prowl made of this, or if the sparkling even knew there was anything different about his situation. Mirage supposed there was only one way to find out.

 

He scooted his chair closer to Jazz. A polite little movement. Nothing loud and scraping. Prowl still heard it, and looked up for a klik before going back to his toy.

 

Mirage scooted closer. This time Prowl turned around and stayed that way, toy forgotten, optics narrowed suspiciously.

 

That, however, proved nothing. Perhaps the sparkling was afraid he meant Jazz harm.

 

Mirage casually laid his hand on Jazz's pauldron. Prowl's winglets shot up, and he scowled. Mirage thought he looked cute with a scowl. Usually, Prowl wore a very neutral expression, especially for a sparkling.

 

Evidently, Prowl felt that Mirage was very dense, and settled himself in Jazz's lap to further get his point across.

 

It didn't work. Mirage rubbed Jazz's shoulder, just slightly, like he was soothing away a hurt.

 

Jazz looked at him like he'd grown another head, or perhaps like he'd finally lost ALL of the marbles and needed to go have a chat or three with Smokescreen.

 

Prowl had had enough. He'd made it very clear that he didn't like what Mirage was doing at all, and yet the mech still continued. Prowl smacked Mirage's hand smartly, and said in a very clear voice, “Mine.”

 

That answered his question. Mirage removed his hand from Jazz's person and moved the chair further away. He raised his hands in surrender. “Forgive me young Prowl, I didn't mean to over-step.”

 

Prowl watched him for a klik or two, making sure Mirage wasn't trying to trick him. Then he nodded and stretched, reaching for his toy. Jazz handed it to him, rubbing soothing circles between his winglets. “All yours, Prowler,” he said with a soft smile.

 

Prowl resumed his play with the puzzle, but stayed in Jazz's lap.

 

[Well, 'Raj. Now you know. He told you good.]

 

[Quite.]

 


End file.
